


Catalyst

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Series: Idrelle's Holiday Fanfic Gifts 2017 [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: Spiridon is running late to his post, no thanks to Kaarin. But guarding the Divine is supposed to be an easy task--isn't it?





	Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fleshwerks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fleshwerks/gifts).



> This is a gift for [@fleshwerks](http://fleshwerks.tumblr.com/), an amazing artist and writer with some of the most unique OCs I have ever encountered (seriously, go check out her art, it is WONDERFUL). Thank you for letting me play with Spiridon, I adore the sharky scarmouth to pieces. 
> 
> Spiridon and Kaarin belong to fleshwerks. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“I’m curious, Spiridon—have you ever considered wearing something other than fucking beige?” 

Spiridon pulls his shirt over his head. Static clings to his hair, making it stand on end. He shakes it out with a scowl. “No,” he says, glaring at the tall, naked Qunari lounging on his bed. 

To be perfectly honest, it’s less of a bed and more of a cot. Not exactly the most comfortable of places, though it force them to find some creative positions during their mid-afternoon trysts. There isn’t much to these quarters they share with the rest of the Valo-Kas. The room is small, cramped, even, when the entire crew is in there. Humans don’t know how to build for anyone over seven feet, not even in an expansive temple dedicated to their prophetess. Their architects must have maxed out their materials on the vaulted ceilings in the entrance hall and the inner sanctum, saving nothing for the actual living spaces in the temple. Glory be to Andraste—may her disembodied spirit never hit her head on a rafter. 

“Kaarin,” Spiridon says, “where are my trousers?” 

Kaarin shrugs. He closes his eyes and rests his hands at the back of his head, manoeuvring them carefully to avoid the odd angle of his horns. “Dunno.” 

Spiridon’s eyes narrow. He crosses the room in three long strides, seizes Kaarin by the legs and drags him to the side. Kaarin slides off the bed, landing on the rough wood floor with an “oomph.” Spiridon finds his trousers balled up in the sheets where Kaarin had previously been lounging. 

“You fuck,” Spiridon says, picking them up and shaking them out. 

Kaarin smirks. “What? Can you really blame me for finding a reason to get you to stay?” 

“I was supposed to be on-duty half an hour ago,” Spiridon says. “Asaara will be waiting for me to take her place.” 

Kaarin snorts. “What’s the meaning of duty when there’s barely a job to do? The lady with the funny hat wants us to stand around looking intimidating. We’ve spent a week doing that.” He stands, his arm looping around Spiridon’s waist, hand on his arse. His skin is still sweaty. “I think there are better uses of our time.” He squeezes the taut muscles. 

Spiridon rolls his eyes. “Usually I would agree, but one of us has to be respectable.” 

“Respectable?” Kaarin laughs. “When have you ever cared about being _respectable?”_  

_It’s not about respectability,_ Spiridon wants to say. _I have a job to do, beyond the Valo-Kas. Spy on the Conclave. I’d make a terrible spy if I spend all my days fucking you._  

But he doesn’t say it. 

Instead, he kisses Kaarin, coarse and rough, hungry for more. Kaarin pulls against him, fingers scratching his back, one hand tangled in Spiridon’s long hair, pulling on it, hard. He groans, a low throaty chuckle resonating in his voice as he returns the kiss. 

Spiridon’s teeth scrape Kaarin’s lower lip. “Fuck respectability,” he growls. _“And give me my damn trousers.”_  

Kaarin has snatched the trousers away when Spiridon wasn’t looking. He wrenches them back, the palm of one hand resting on Kaarin’s chest and pushing him away. Finally, he manages to finish dressing and searches the room for his shield and spear. Hopefully Kaarin hasn’t hidden them, too. 

Part of him hopes that Kaarin has hidden them. He needs an excuse to shirk his duties, his responsibilities. What he would give to only be a mercenary, to say no to the agreement he made with Keeper Istimaethoriel, let go of Clan Lavellan forever. He has a place here, with the Valo-Kas. He doesn’t need the clan anymore. He doesn’t need to be their spy. 

But Kaarin hasn’t hidden his weapons. They’re hidden behind a couple of Maraas-Lok barrels the company managed to sneak into their quarters. Spiridon arms himself and turns to Kaarin. 

“Oh, go on, you beige monstrosity,” Kaarin says, waving a hand at him. “I’ll see you on patrol.” 

Spiridon nods and leaves, closing the door on a chuckling Kaarin. 

As he heads down the maze of empty corridors, he considers the idea forming in his mind. The thought of cutting his ties to Clan Lavellan and staying with this wild Tal-Vashoth company has been growing ever more appealing with each passing day. And it isn’t simply because of Kaarin—even though Spiridon genuinely appreciates his company and the man can do things to him that make him hard just thinking about them. There is a camaraderie between Spiridon and all of the Valo-Kas he can’t remember experiencing before. That is something the clan would certainly never give him, even if he managed to smooth things over with Istimaethoriel.    

Besides, on most days he can pass for a Qunari, so why not? 

Spiridon frowns, slowing his pace. The corridors are strangely empty, especially for the middle of the day. The Conclave would be in session, but even still, there should be servants and agents and diplomats wandering the halls. 

So where has everyone gone? 

His grip tightens on his spear. This shouldn’t be his concern, but the unexpected silence makes him unsteady. As he approaches the Divine’s office, Asaara is strangely missing from her post. Maybe she had to relieve herself. More likely she got tired of waiting for him to show up. She would likely give him and Kaarin an earful for it later. 

Spiridon hears muffled voices through the door. 

“Now is the hour of our victory.” 

_That’s a new one—who the fuck is that supposed to be?_  

“Why are you doing this? You of all people?” 

The Divine. Her voice is surprised, panicked, fearful. 

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit—_  

Spiridon launches forward, sprinting towards the doors. 

_Asaara, where the fuck are you?!_  

“Keep the sacrifice still—” 

“Someone— _help me!”_  

Spiridon bursts through the doors, skidding into the Divine’s office. The first thing he sees is Asaara’s crumpled form in the corner, blood pooling beneath her. He hisses, upper lip curling, spear raised as he looks at the people responsible. His eyes widen at the scene before him and he knows that they are all in deep, deep shit. 

Men and women in grey and blue armour surround the Divine. Their magic lifts her into the air. Her strange hat sits askew on her head and her lined, papery face is equal parts afraid and angry. She struggles against her bonds to no avail. 

Beyond her stands a monster. 

Even among the Valo-Kas, Spiridon has never felt dwarfed in his life—but now he does. A creature, half-man, half-darkspawn, cloaked in shadow and red light, its face crusted with sharp, red crystals looks to the disruption, hissing with displeasure. It holds a magic ball of glowing green light in an outstretched hand. 

And it’s _floating._  

_Shit._  

“What the fuck is going on here?” Spiridon says, eyes darting between the warriors, the monster and the Divine. He sinks into an attack position, swearing internally. The odds were not in his favour. 

Suddenly, the Divine’s hand lashes out, smacking the orb from the creature’s hand. The orb falls, rolling towards Spiridon, its making crackling, casting strange shadows across the walls. The creature screams in fury, launching itself across the room, straight for Spiridon and the orb. 

In a split-second, Spiridon makes a decision. Whatever this thing is, it’s a dangerous, magical tool. He can’t let the creature have it. 

He stoops and picks it up. 

There’s a flash of green, a flash of white and everything goes dark. 

All Spiridon knows is the stench of blood and ash and the sound of a million screams vanishing into the void.  


End file.
